


Never Let Me Go

by queeninthenorth (misshiss)



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshiss/pseuds/queeninthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't deserve a second chance, not after what he has done, but Peter seems unable to stay away from him. Their relationship spirals down into the depths of hate. Will there be a future for them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coyotebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coyotebee/gifts).



> I decided to make Norman's disease a little more dramatic than it was in the film. Also, some of the timeline might be changed a little for dramatic purposes.
> 
> This is for my bro. <3 Enjoy!

A scream cut through the mansion, making the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck rise. So far there weren’t any words; it was just anger at the world, anger at his father’s failing body. But soon it would turn into hatred, hatred very specifically aimed at Harry himself and he was in no mood to deal with that, not today.

“Make sure he has everything he needs,“ he told the maid, one of several servants attending to his and his father’s every need.

“Of course, Mr Harry. You should take your coat. It’s cold outside today.“ She held out a tweed jacket, the kind of jacket that told people a certain story about him. The story of the rich boy whose father could buy the world and turn it into his personal ping pong room.

“Thank you, Martha,“ he replied with a sunny smile, blocking out whatever tales the jacket was whispering at him. It wasn’t Martha’s fault. She was just trying to look out for him and at the moment there weren’t too many people willing to do that for Harry.

Another scream. Martha flinched, bending like reed under the anguish, the fury the beast in Norman Osborn’s room unleashed.

Harry ducked out of the front door, walked out into the sunshine and the warmth, the sweet smells from the well-kept flower beds. Everything was in order here and for all the world the mansion and the surrounding area looked peaceful, happy even. It had never been. But then again, the mansion and the flower beds were no different from his tweed jacket, were they? Their purpose was to tell a story and they told that story well.

Harry didn’t look back when he stepped on the side walk, his feet carrying him further and further away until he could no longer hear his father’s curses, until he felt safe.

 

***

 

They were meeting at a café near Oscorp; not a Starbucks, which Harry hated, but a real café with an elderly Italian lady making a fresh cup of coffee for every customer, where there were no fancy machines, where there were no people. Harry kind of liked not being under surveillance. Back at boarding school his teachers had watched over his every move, at home the servants had taken over that duty and in crowded places there were more than enough reporters willing to go out of their way to get pictures of him.

Here it was just him.

He heard the soft hiss of water flowing into the sink, porcelain clinking against metal. The comfortable noise almost lulled him into some sort of trance, but he still knew Peter was coming, even before he could see him. Something about Peter Parker had definitely changed. Harry looked up at him, taking in the physical changes first. Broad shoulders (who would’ve thought that a scrawny nerd could ever become so physically powerful?) and the usual ratty hipster clothes so many kids in this city favoured. But it was more than that. It wasn’t just hitting the gym and shopping at Urban Outfitters. It was something in Peter’s eyes. He’d loved and lost. That was it. Harry had seen that in other kids’ eyes, had seen the subtle shift from innocence to knowing.

“Fancy meeting your here, Osborn,“ Peter said, his voice still hovering between child and man.

“Sit down, Parker.“ For a moment they regarded each other with the solemn expressions of business men. It was Peter’s wide, goofy grin that broke the mood.

“I still can’t believe you’re back! You gotta tell me about all the horror stories from boarding school.“

Harry shrugged. “There’s not much to tell really. It wasn’t like in Jane Eyre. We weren’t abused or anything. Unless you count being forced to actually read books instead of getting the Spark Notes.“

Peter slipped into the booth next to Harry, his thigh and shoulder radiating warmth, almost like Peter had a fever. Or maybe Harry was just cold despite the tweed jacket, maybe because of it.

“Seriously, though, how have you been, man?“

Harry wished he had a reply that didn’t require him to lie at Peter. It just wasn’t something he was particularly comfortable with even though they hadn’t seen each other in such a long time.

“I don’t know,“ he replied at last. “I didn’t really have much time to think. Finals were crazy and then, you know…“

Harry didn’t actually remember the party, only bits and pieces, all drowned in a flurry of champagne flutes, lost in the mist of what the stoners called ’the opium den’.

At that moment the waitress came to take their orders and Harry had to marshal his thoughts into a semblance of order. He had to smile politely and thank the lady without seeming too eager. Service personnel tended to remember people who were too enthusiastic and he didn’t want the press to find out about the Italian place.

“It’s good to be back,“ Harry said at last, pouring way too much sugar into his coffee.

“I wonder how you manage to stay so skinny like that,“ Peter said.

“Shut up, hipster.“ Harry felt a grin tugging at the corners of his lips and it was the first genuine smile of his in so long his muscles strained at the effort.

“Hey, I’m not- okay, maybe I am.“ Peter smiled sheepishly before he placed his hand on Harry’s wrist. It felt warm against his skin, maybe too warm. But it felt right.

 

After they had finished their coffees they went for a walk. Harry felt the sun tickling his nose and reached for his sunglasses. They weren’t in the tweed jacket. Martha should have given him his blazer instead. That stupid woman never got anything right and-  
Sometimes Harry needed to check himself, needed to remind himself that he wasn’t his father and that these bursts of irrational anger weren’t like him.

“You okay, man?“ Peter asked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

It took Harry a moment to discern the expression. It had been a long time since anyone had been genuinely worried about Harry for his own sake, not because they were paid to feign paternal feelings, like the people back at the boarding school.

“My eyes hurt a bit. Like, I think I might have an infection or something. Can we go and buy sunglasses somewhere?“

“Of course, man, there’s a store right across the street. Let’s go.“ Once upon a time Harry had been used to traffic in NYC and crossed streets without even having to look. Apparently one could use that ability because suddenly a cab appeared in front of him and he froze. There was a split second of bitterness when he thought that his father would probably be glad to learn he was rid of his son for good. Then a strong arm wrapped around him from behind and pulled him back to safety. Harry’s pulse was beating against his temples and wrists and he could almost feel his body releasing the adrenaline into his system.

“Damnit, Harry, you okay? That cab was definitely speeding.“

Harry could still feel Peter’s arm around him, Peter’s chest against his back, and for a moment Harry allowed himself to lean back into him. Let Peter take his weight, what little there was of it, just for a moment.

“Harry? Hey, talk to me.“

Slowly turning his head, Harry looked up at Peter. Their faces were so close he could count Peter’s lashes and yet it didn’t feel wrong. There was one person in this world who genuinely cared about him, who had risked his own safety for Harry’s. Why shouldn’t he be close to him?

“I’m just a bit dizzy. I’ll be okay in a minute,“ Harry murmured. “Can you just…?“

Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was asking for. After the initial rush of emotion, he was starting to feel a bit bad about occupying Peter’s personal space like that. Peter would never tell him to get away from him, of course, because he just wasn’t like that. Was it okay for him to abuse Peter’s gentleness just a little longer?

“Harry, should we go to Oscorp? Have you checked out? I mean, you got the world’s best doctors at your beck and call, so maybe…“

Memory slammed into Harry’s mind. The memory of his father, sounding almost smug about the bad news he had to deliver. No, he would never go and have someone confirm this for him.

“I’m fine, Peter. Really.“ It took more effort than Harry was comfortable with to push himself away from Peter and put a smile into place, a smile that looked like he meant it. “Let’s just go and get those glasses, okay?“

For a moment it seemed like Peter wanted to say something, like he wanted to insist, and part of Harry wished that he would. It would feel nice, to be pampered a little, to feel like there was someone who genuinely gave a damn. But Peter never did and Harry understood.

 

When Harry took off his glasses that night, he was glad he had insisted on buying them instead of seeing a doctor. The shadows under his eyes were like coal pressed into his skin, the kind of bruise that never really faded. He’d been trying to deny it, been trying to deny it for a long time. He was sick. He was sick and there would not be anything to save him. Fourteen years of research had amounted to fuck all. Harry Osborn would probably never grow old enough to walk into a bar and legally order a pint of beer.

Tracing the edge of the shadow against his cheekbone, Harry willed the dark thoughts away and back towards Peter, how warm his chest had felt against Harry’s back, how secure his arm, no, his entire being had been. Maybe he was going mad and maybe he was dying, but he knew he wouldn’t go alone, not as long as Peter was still here.

The thought made the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Something, somewhere between his breastbone and his stomach, felt warm and pulsing when he thought of Peter.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this story would have a happy ending. Harry knew he was lying to himself, but he felt he deserved a lie, just this once.

That was when he heard frantic voices rushing down the corridors and someone banged on his door.

“Harry? Harry, are you awake?“

And that was when he knew; he wouldn’t get a happy ending.


End file.
